


Leave Your Sword On The Sands

by tangofox



Series: Christmas Fics [3]
Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Choose love over war, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hector really just wants to watch, M/M, Orgy, Paris is madly in love with Achilles, choose hot fricking over war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangofox/pseuds/tangofox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris refuses to have War, when he can choose love instead. Everyone decides that with Agamemnon out of the picture, victory will be possible for all the young princes, and they can all focus their attentions on things more carnal</p>
<p>Christmas fic for KnightlyPatroclus!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Your Sword On The Sands

Usually in these hot summer evenings, servants would surround the prince, fill the room, intent on keeping him cool and content. But not a single servant nor slave could be found that evening in the villa of Prince Paris. They had all been sent away, not to be trusted, their gazes not allowed to land on the two visitors Paris had lazing in one of his rooms. Paris himself was feasting on a roast goose that had been left at the villa gates for him, while his two companions sat on a thick rug beneath him, one braiding the others hair. It wasn't as if the behaviour was out of the ordinary, Paris was well known for his trysts. The servants would assume he was bedding an army general or similar, someone with a reputation who didn't want to be seen leaving Paris' villa, sweaty and debauched. The servants would place bets on who it was, though no money ever exchanged hands; they never got to know who it was. It made Paris chuckle, how they all assumed it was something so simple, when his guests were much more interesting than any average soldier. Even unarmed, there was a chance his guests could bring about his own death in a heartbeat.

The problem with sending away all the servants, was that there was nobody around to announce guests to Paris. As always two guards were stationed at the front gates of the villa, but they didn't stop his guest. No soldier in their right mind would stand in the way of Prince Hector. Nor would he ever give them reason to. Paris did not realise that Hector was even off the battlefield until the thick doors to the room swung open, the hulk of a man standing in the doorway looking ready to burst. The braiding stopped, and most of the room seemed ready to pounce. Except Paris. Who continued to pick at the goose with his fingers, licking the grease off his slender fingertips, completely unswayed by his brothers sudden appearance. 

 

“They shouldn't be here,” Hector grunted in annoyance, wishing he hadn't changed out of his uniform, wishing to be armed with more than the small knife that was strapped to his thick thigh. While Hector had heard Paris whispering of these plans after too much honeyed wine, he had never expected this. It was worse than coming home to find his own wife in his brothers arms. He longed to feel the weight of the sword against his hip. To draw it and thrust it into the bellies of Paris' guests. He had been a fool to visit his brother unarmed, even though before, he had no reason to carry weapons here. 

“I won't kill you if you don't kill me,” The visitor with the braided hair told him, catching Hector by surprise, and making Paris giggle. Hector's face was bright red, massive hands curled up into fists. He could crush skulls easily in his hands, Paris had seen him do it once. But he wasn't frightened of Hector. He knew he wasn't a gentle giant, not in the slightest. But he also knew that no matter how much they fought, Hector would not harm him. Hector had been the only member of his family who had never hurt him. Paris rises to greet his brother, stepping past his guests, barefoot, wearing one of Helens dresses as he padded over to Hector, leaning up to kiss him on both cheeks. Hector remained still and stony, eyes on Paris' guests.

“Paris,” Hector rumbles, looking down at Paris with a warning gaze burned into his amber eyes. His fists twitched, as if longing to connect with flesh. Paris ignored him, wrapping his arms around his stomach. In any situation where they were alone, Hector would have melted into his embrace, yet now his muscles stay tense. Paris was playing host to the enemy. He would not be relaxed in their presence.

It shouldn't be possible that the great warriors Achilles and Patroclus could sit in the presence of the boy blamed for the Trojan war, with no weapons drawn on either side. Nobody in the room should look this peaceful. Paris was weak, Hector knew that from the moment he laid eyes on him. He loved too much, didn't have the head for strategy, didn't have the stomach for war. He was a bad prince, he would make a good prostitute, where he could give his love to anybody with a pocket full of coin. But instead he was a Prince, and a foolish one at that. It wasn't his fault that soldiers fought on their doorstep, but he certainly hadn't helped the matter. Hector knew a lot about Helen, he understand why Paris kept her so close to his breast. Helen had become fond of Andromache, the two woman loved each other greatly, and Hector had no qualms with this, in fact he encouraged it. He could hardly object when he spend many a night in the bed of his brothers. 

“I thought you were joking when you suggested this Paris,” Hector mutters at him, ignoring their company, though he could feel their eyes on him. Paris only nuzzled further into his tunic, which annoyed Hector to no end. Paris knew how to use affection to get what he wanted. To his surprise Patroclus rises, making Hector tense more. Paris just shoots him an all-knowing smile, before slinking back to the day bed. “Try some of this goose Achilles, it's delicious,” He purrs, tearing off a piece with his fingers, and pushing it past Achilles' lips. Hector didn't believe he could be any tenser, until he saw that. 

“I am unarmed Prince Hector, why don't we take a walk,” Patroclus suggests, snapping him out of his daydream. Or perhaps nightmare. 

“Go on brother, you can have me later on,” Paris drawls at him bluntly, making Achilles gape a little. It infuriated Hector to be talked to like that in front of anyone, especially in front of his enemy. But he allows Patroclus to lead him out of the room, listening to the door slam behind him, Paris' giggles heard from inside the closed room. Patroclus looks around clearly not knowing where to go. Hector lets out a loud sigh and starts to walk towards one of the back balconies, Patroclus falling into line at the side of him.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't slit your throat,” Hector says gruffly, turning to look at the shorter man. Patroclus looked like he had been born in Troy, skin as dark as Hectors, a stark difference to the warrior that was currently sat alone with his vulnerable younger brother.

“Because Paris is in love with Achilles,” Patroclus says bluntly, without flinching. 

Hector stops and frowns at him, feeling jealousy burn in his stomach, turning to face him. He's aware he doesn't have to do a thing to look intimidating, he always looked like that. “I thought you and Achilles were inseparable lovers? Why aren't you ripping out Paris' throat? Why are you leaving them alone?”

“If Achilles loves him back, that does not mean he loves me any less,” Patroclus says with a wise smile he was far too young for. “You love your wife, yet I know you love your brother equally.”

The mans own wisdom made Hector want to push his fist into his face. Nobody should be that clever, especially not a soldier. He wondered if he would be better suited to be a politician instead of a soldier. Hector had watched him on the battlefield, he had lost many of his good men to Patroclus. 

“Okay then fair enough,” Hector says with a shrug, relaxing just an inch. “So Paris has another person who he is infatuated with. Why does that mean I should let my enemies live when they have infiltrated my house?”

“Paris and I have been talking,” He explains to him, smoothing down his own tunic, before looking up at Hector. “Achilles has agreed to take out Agamemnon We don't expect anyone to try and avenge him, but if they do, Achilles will put them in their place. In exchange, Troy will give a small amount of riches to the army. Then they will go home, will full pockets and their lives.”

Hector frowns for a moment. The plan would leave the Trojans as victors, though everyone would benefit. Nobody wanted to be in this war any longer, it was dragging. He wondered what Paris had said to persuade Achilles, who would surely lose out on some glory. But Priam would surely be pleased to have Achilles in Troy not as an enemy. It seemed Paris had done well.

“Helen will stay in Troy,” He says firmly.

“Helen will go wherever makes her happy,” Patroclus says with a frown. Helen was not an object and shouldn't be put where men wanted her. If the war ended Patroclus thought she should be free to do what she liked.

“You misunderstand me,” Hector says, holding up his hands. “Helen will stay with Andromache, where she is happy.”

Patroclus smiled at that, nodding at Hector in agreement. “We thought that the best course of action is if she made a public appearance, told the people that she is happy being Paris' bride. The word will spread. Helen is beautiful and everyone wants her happiness. When they see how in love Paris and her are, it will help.”

Hector nods stiffly in agreement. It was the right thing to do, but the jealousy burned inside him at Paris being presented as being hopelessly in love with Helen. He wondered how many people in the inner city would believe it; many knew of Paris and how easily he doled out his love.

“We don't have to fight anymore Hector,” Patroclus says softly, taking one of the mans hands in-between his own, smiling. Hector could see why Achilles was so in love with him. He was a good man, an incredible one. Hector leans down and kisses him on the mouth, a sign of agreement, severing the enemy ties between them

“I would like to get back to the room before we find Achilles thoroughly debauched,” Patroclus says with a chuckle, pulling away from the kiss slowly.

“You know if you haven't told him not to, Paris will make an advance on him,” Hector informs him with a little smirk. “Does Achilles return the feelings that my dear brother has.”

“I don't think there is a soul in the world who doesn't love Paris back.”

Hector laughs loudly at that, a sound that comes deep from his belly, clapping Patroclus on the shoulder. He was well muscled, his skin soft and Hector found himself stroking the skin as they walked. Perhaps this alliance would be fun after all.

The moan echoes even through the thick door, and both of them have matching smirks as they push the door open together. Achilles is still on the floor, though Paris no longer lounges on the daybed. The young prince was on all fours, his head hidden between the spread legs of Achilles, his ass raised high up in the air. 

Hector was no stranger to this sight, he often found Paris entangled with someone. But with his head between the legs of the famed Achilles...that was certainly a new sight to behold, and a beautiful one at that. He looked over to Patroclus, worried the young man might not be so happy with what was happened. Instead he saw his eyes hooded with lust, his hands twitching at his sides. “Go and be with him Patroclus,” Hector urges him with a grin, nudging Patroclus with a shoulder. The younger man moves forwards, though he tugs at Hectors hand, bringing him over to the pair in   
the middle of the room.

“You were gone too long,” Achilles whines, reaching out for Patroclus, tugging him down into a breathy kiss, though Paris does not move away, not until Hector kneels himself down behind him, putting his hands on his hips. Paris gasps a little, and when he pulls his mouth away from Achilles, the blond lets out a whine of protest into Patroclus' mouth.

“Hey, thought you were going to bed me when I got back?” Hector asks him with a raise of his eyebrow, really wanting to wipe that smile of Paris' face. He knew he had won. And doesn't he always? Nobody had power greater than Paris sometimes he thought, perhaps Paris was not even his blood brother, perhaps he was a God in disguise. Nobody ever refused Paris. There were plenty reasons to suspect. And plenty of reasons not to. The way Paris shyly lowers his gaze, a flush on his freckled face as he turns away from Achilles, nuzzling into Hectors chest in apology. The warmth of his skin, the unsteady breath. He must be mortal to be so beautifully flawed.

“Patroclus....get him back,” Achilles whines against the mans mouth, a chuckle escaping both Patroclus and Hector at his words. Paris just looked embarrassed.

Patroclus looks over the men, unsure whether it was okay to give orders to the Prince who he was a guest of. Hector's encouraging smirk gave him the answer. “I don't recall anyone saying you could take your mouth off his cock Paris,” Patroclus says in a conversational tone, running his fingers through Achilles' hair, who currently looked like a sated kitten. Paris whines desperately into Hectors chest, cheeky enough to cup Hector through his tunic before moving back to kiss at Achilles' ankle gently, making his way up his leg. “You should both stay in my villa,” Paris purrs, looking up at them both with a grin. “I think it would be in everyone’s best interests, don't you all agree?”

“As long as you don't forget that I belong to Patroclus,” Achilles murmurs, his pale cheeks flushed with a mixture of excitement and arousal. Paris could respect that, he might be completely enthralled with Achilles, but he belonged to Hector. It was a mutual understanding, and a mutual appreciation.

“I love you Achilles,” Patroclus murmurs, pulling him up to sit higher, sat with his chest pressed against Achilles' arm. He kisses at his smooth jaw, peppering affection along his skin, tasting the barest hints of sweat from the summer heat. Hector watched the three of them, clean shaven and boyish. They made him feel like a predatory old man. He had no interest in being intimate with either Achilles or Patroclus, but he could watch, he could appreciate.

Paris pushes Achilles' tunic up to his hips, Patroclus helping and pulling it over the mans head, tossing the fabric down a little further away from them. Paris moves to go back down, only to find Hector's fingers twisting in his hair, yanking him back up. There was a stark difference between the couples. Patroclus was soft, affectionate. Hector was harsh and dominating. But they were both loving, just in their own ways. “Your clothes too Paris,” He orders. Paris doesn't move to undress himself, instead raises his arms like an obedient doll, letting Hector pull the dress off him and toss it into the clothes pile. Patroclus raises an eyebrow, and Paris shoots him a smile. He wondered if he was giving the former prince ideas. Paris would love to watch Hector teach Patroclus how to be dominating.

He nudges his knee against Paris' backside, who looks back at him, sucking on his bottom lip. “Don't let beautiful Patroclus be neglected,” He reminds him, Paris nodding. In a flash he's sat in Patroclus' lap, kissing him hungrily, Achilles watching with wide eyes, and Hector recognises the hint of jealousy. With things like this, there was always boundaries. Most of the time you had to figure them out as you went along.

Paris helps Patroclus out of his tunic, disappointed that he wasn't aroused, snapping his head to the side to make sure Achilles wasn't flagging. Hector had gotten himself in a more comfortable position, fully dressed and lounging, the power he exuded sitting there, watching. Paris turns his attention back to the two Achaeans, moving to sit in-between them. Immediately Patroclus is kissing at Achilles' shoulder, though he pushes his body a little hesitantly towards Paris. Not one to ignore a lover in need, Paris is quick to wrap his fingers around Patroclus' cock, slow and gentle flicks of his wrist, coaxing him to hardness as he watches the two kiss.

“I could have never killed either of you,” Paris murmurs, and while mentions of death would normally be a mood kill, Paris' sincerity and honesty was beautiful, something rare. And Paris meant it. The Gods themselves would have to force his hand. Killing people were hard enough. But not these two. Achilles was arrogant and full of himself. Patroclus was fiercely devoted. But they were not bad people. They were both clever, clever enough that they knew an alliance could only bring good things for the young princes. They had the power. They were seizing it. 

“We would have truly regretted it if we had to kill you Paris,” Patroclus tells him in his soft kind voice, though Paris could hear how it was a pitch higher, tainted with Arousal. Achilles raises his eyebrow but says nothing. Paris had no doubt that Achilles would have slain him if it was necessary for his goals. Which is why he had to be cleverer. He had to make his life worth something.

Paris watches as Patroclus' hand comes up to cup his cheek, resting there for a moment before swiftly moving his head down again, swallowing heavily around Achilles' hard cock, the man letting out a gasp in surprise, pushing his hips up towards him. Paris doesn't need warning to not forget Patroclus this time, his eyes open, wrapping his hand around his length, jerking him off at the same time as bobbing his head on Achilles.

“Oh...Gods,” Achilles moans, moving to rest his head on Patroclus' shoulder, nuzzling against him, his body even hotter than before, little beads of sweat trickling down his hairless stomach. Hector noticed how hairless Achilles was, and imagined the image of Patroclus shaving him with a blade in the cool tent they shared on the beach. Hector moves forwards, stroking one of his hands up and down Paris' back, which seemed to spur him on and encourage him to pleasure their guests. Their moans grew in volumes, both the men in sync with each other, hands grabbing at each other, grabbing hungrily at Paris. Paris seemed to blossom at the attention, his movements expert, knowing just how to flick his wrist to get Patroclus panting, where to press his tongue to make Achilles howl like a beast. All the while Hector watched full of lust and approval. 

It could have been over much quicker, but Paris likes to drag his sexual encounters out when he has a little control, he likes to drive them halfway to madness with his teasing. He swears he almost has Achilles begging for a release. It's the mighty Achilles that climaxes first, hot and thick against Paris' tongue, moaning out the Princes name, head lolling back to fall on the daybed behind him. The sight of Achilles and the quickness of Paris' hand is enough to push Patroclus over the edge too, who comes with nothing more than a grunt, splattering over his chest, before sinking against Achilles, spent.

Paris rises slowly, reaching for his cup of honeyed wine and taking long gulps, washing the bitter taste of the other man out of his mouth. Hector is there to wrap his arms around him, to press a kiss to Paris' cheek. He sinks against his chest easily, shuffling himself close between his legs, not ashamed of his own nakedness, he had absolutely no reason to be.

“Let us take care of you Paris,” Patroclus murmurs in-between pressing lazy kisses to Achilles' shoulder.

“Yes, let us return the pleasure,” Achilles adds, lifting his head up to nod in agreement.

Paris could only smile, nestling himself further into Hectors massive chest. This morning Hector had been out on the battlefield, had been soaked in other mens blood. Tomorrow they would strike the truce, Agamemnon would be taken out, the war would end. And Helen would no longer be in danger. Paris could focus all his attentions on love and nothing more, just like he was meant to. 

“We have all night,” Paris simply drawls, offering them both a lazy smile, watching as Achilles curls himself around Patroclus, seeking attention from his lover, pressing his fingers into his dark skin. The night belonged to them. And nobody else could take that away.


End file.
